"Anything else?"
"Like what? I don't think I did too badly for one night, and I'm still waiting to be properly congratulated."
"Proper congratulations on you. How did Blake die?"
"A bodyguard killed him."
"Interesting. Assassination, or did he abuse the help?"
"Unknown. The obituary simply said he was killed by one of his bodyguards, who was then killed himself."
The helicopters had reappeared on the horizon. Although it was hard to tell with the distance that separated us, it appeared to me as if they might be keeping pace with us. Veil had seen them too. We exchanged glances, nodded. The helicopters were definitely making me nervous. I was, yet again, in violation of a police order to stay within the Zurich city limits; if the helicopters belonged to Interpol or the Swiss authorities, and they were on to my presence in the rented car, I assumed we would already have been intercepted by a police cruiser. I didn't like the presence of the helicopters. I also didn't like what seemed to be my only two options: go back to Zurich and passively wait in hiding for the whole thing to blow over, whatever the "whole thing" might be, before I was blown over, or forge ahead into the unknown in an effort to increase my chances of survival. I was forging ahead. I was naturally worried about Harper, Garth, and Veil, but I had done my best to prevent them from exposing themselves to my peril, and I had to admit I was more than a bit relieved to have them with me.
I turned my attention back to Garth, said, "You mentioned that R. Edgar Blake had a private intelligence-gathering operation."
"The largest. He owned a number of satellites through his various corporations, and probably had a lot of stringers around the world. That's usually how these things work."
"Right. What happened to that business asset? Is the Countess Rawlings running that too?"
"Unknown. She may-"
"Could be company!" Veil said sharply. "Green Saab coming up on the left, Garth!"
We were in the center lane of a three-lane highway. Garth quickly glanced over his right shoulder to see if he had room, then yanked the wheel in that direction, sending us into the far right lane. "How many in the car?"
"Only one that I can see-the driver. Here he comes; he's following. He's motioning for us to pull over."
"Fuck him."
I turned around in the seat, got up on my knees, and craned my neck, trying to see around Veil, who was shielding Harper with his body at the same time as he was looking out the rear window. A short throwing knife with a flat, taped handle had suddenly appeared in his right hand. "He's coming up fast now, Garth. Close on your left."
"Okay. Anything in his hands?"
"They're both on the wheel. But he could have a gun on the seat."
"Right," Garth said evenly as he glanced in the side mirror. "I'm tracking him now. Buckle up, everybody, and hang on. If he comes alongside, I'm going to try to cut him off or ram him. If he does have a gun on the seat, we can't risk letting him get close enough to have a clear shot at us."
"Check," Veil replied calmly. "Get ready to do it now. I think he just put the pedal to the floor."
"I've got him."
I watched through the left side window in the back as the hood of the green Saab appeared, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Garth's fingers tighten on the steering wheel as he prepared to sideswipe the other car. A second later the features of the other driver came into view-pale brown hair and eyes, angular face, wispy moustache. "Hold it, Garth!" I said, grabbing my brother's shoulder. "It's Duane Insolers, the designated big mouth from the CIA."
Garth's fingers remained clenched on the wheel. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, Mongo? Fuck him. He's outta' here."
"No! If he was going to fire on us, he could have done it by now. He's got a clear shot, and the agency probably would have issued him a bazooka if that's what he wanted. He's looking to talk. It can't hurt to hear what he has to say."
Garth tilted his head back slightly. "Veil?"
"All right, we'll have a parley. I'll keep an eye on him; one bad move, I'll stick a knife in his throat."
"Okay," Garth said as he eased the car over to the hard-packed dirt on the shoulder of the highway and braked to a stop.
Veil immediately got out of the car, walked around the rear, and stood close by the window on Harper's side. Both of his hands were hanging at his sides and appeared empty, but I didn't have to see it to know that he had palmed the knife and was holding it ready. We had practiced together a few times, and I knew Veil could plant a throwing knife in the center of a target faster than most people could fire a gun.
The green Saab rattled to a halt just ahead of us, and Insolers got out. He saw Veil, unbuttoned his tweed overcoat, and held it open to show that he wasn't carrying a gun in his belt or a shoulder holster. Then he came forward, ignoring Veil. Veil didn't ignore him. As the CIA operative came up to the car, Veil stepped up to him, abruptly grabbed one of his arms, and twisted it around behind his back, forcing him down over the hood of the car. With his free hand Veil patted him down, searched through his pockets. As Veil proceeded with his business, Insolers looked up and shot me a pained look. I turned my head and looked to my left, out the window on Garth's side. The dark shapes on the horizon had disappeared once again.
"He's clean," Veil announced, speaking to Garth. He and my brother hadn't been kidding when they'd told me I was to be "handled." I was being virtually ignored when it came to security matters.
Garth nodded. Veil released Insolers' arm. I rolled down my window as Insolers straightened his overcoat, then walked up to my door and leaned down close to the window. Immediately, I was aware of the strong medicinal smell the man exuded.
"We have to talk, Frederickson."
"So talk."
"Come to my car."
"You join us. There's plenty of room."
"I have to talk to you alone."
"The fellow standing right behind you is Veil Kendry. This is my brother, Garth, and my friend, Harper Rhys-Whitney.
They're handling me, Insolers, and I just don't think I'd be permitted to accompany you alone to your car. We're all in this together."
Insolers shook his head impatiently as he nervously tugged on the ends of his moustache. "You have absolutely no idea what it is you're getting into."
"Insolers, if you've got something to tell me, why don't you just come out and say it? We're just a little conspicuous standing here at the side of the road."
"Either get in the car, pal," Garth said tersely, "or get the hell out of the way." He didn't bother even looking at Insolers. "Decide right now."
Insolers cursed softly, then abruptly opened the rear door and slid onto the seat next to Harper, who wrinkled her nose slightly and moved away from him. Veil remained on watch outside the car.
"You can't go where you want to go, Frederickson," Insolers said with quiet urgency.
"How do you know where we're going? Maybe we're just out for a ride, enjoying the Swiss scenery."
"You're going to the castle in Geneve."
"Bingo. What are we going to find there?"
"Nothing of any use to you. But you can't go."
"But we are going. If you didn't want me to eventually wind up at Countess Jan Rawlings' castle, why did you mention R. Edgar Blake and the 'countess' in the first place? You dropped quite a few clues and dollops of information on me the other day in my hotel room. Why? Incidentally, you should be warned that these are trick questions, because I already know the answers. But I wouldn't mind having you fill us in on certain details."
Insolers pressed one hand over his eyes. When he took the hand away, he was wearing another pained expression. "It was just a mistake, Frederickson. A miscalculation. I thought you already knew much more than you did."
"Bong. Wrong answer. Spooks like you who work the field, and there are damn few of you left, don't rise to your level by giving out information to people you think already know it. Are you kidding me? I couldn't get you to shut your mouth."